Nile Builder: The Architect from the East

Chapter 107: Chapter 1: The Great Assembly — The Four Statutes Laid Before the Court

On the night of the tenth day, the lamps of the Chief Construction Bureau did not go out once, all night, until dawn.

Tia rose earliest of all. It was still dark outside. She sat by the lamp and went through the records she was to read, once more, from the top. When she came to the page with the ”threefold” on it, she stopped. She shut her eyes and ran the numbers through her head again, one by one: one county on the West Bank, two thousand men levied in the busy season; wheat sown half a month late, and how much less every mu would yield; one mu left to weeds, and how much less; the wages of hired hands, at the guild’s rate . . . When the reckoning was done, she opened her eyes and touched a dot of ink onto the corner of the page.

”How many times is that?” Asaf came in carrying a bowl of water.

”I do not know.” Tia said. ”However many it is, I will keep reading until the moment we go up to the hall.”

”That ink dot of yours,” Asaf glanced at the page, ”has poked a little pit into it.”

”Let it pit.” Tia said. ”A number kept in the heart is steadier than one kept on paper.”

Before the sky had fully lightened, the sound of footsteps rose in the courtyard. The guild’s thirty craftsmen were already drawn up in three rows in front of the house. Their clothes had been washed and starched the night before, and their hair had been smoothed down with water, and each man was tidier than the last. The head master had wrapped his chisel in a cloth and tucked it at the back of his belt — not to carry a tool into court, but because once he stood in the hall, these hands of his, used to working, would have nowhere to rest.

”Look sharp, every one of you.” Kamon went down the rows, and as he went he straightened one man’s collar and brushed a loose thread off another’s shoulder. ”In the hall today we open no mouths. But the whole hall will see us. The clothes are new, and the calluses on our hands are old. That is enough.”

”Enough.” the craftsmen answered.

Kamon himself wore the same old clothes he always wore. They had been washed to a pale white, and the shoulders were worn to fuzz. Someone urged him to change into something new. He said: ”I will not change. These clothes squatted with me on the wall for half a life. If I wear them into the hall today, and those great lords look down on them or look up — I, Kamon, am exactly this grade of goods.”

Under the colonnade, Shafi went over the last pages of her thin book one more time. What she checked was not the words but the numbers: the field hospital’s medicines over four months, six batches of supplies, and for every batch how much had come in, how much had been used, and how many tenths had gone moldy. When the check was done, she put the thin book into a cloth bag, tied the mouth of the bag tight, and wrapped the bag in a layer of oilcloth.

”Shafi,” Imset came out, ”is everything ready?”

”Ready.” Shafi said. ”Teacher, if anyone in the hall asks about the medicines, I will answer.”

”You answer.” Imset said. ”Your numbers are more exact than mine.”

Meru came back from outside while it was still dark. He had gone down to the docks to look at the boats. The five boats still lay at their old moorings, the cargo already unloaded, and the men were billeted at the Bureau. He said: ”The boats — I have left them with the old hands to watch. On a day like today, the boats may rest; the men may not.”

”Shopkeeper Meru,” Hapy edged over, ”tell me, how do you think it will go in the hall today?”

”How will it go?” Meru knocked his pipe against his heel. ”It will be one roomful of men, standing around four things. Some of them want the things to stand up, and some of them want the things to lie down.” He paused. ”But the things are good things. And good things do not stay lying down.”

”They do not stay lying down.” Hapy said.

Kes rolled and re-rolled the drawings of the south into a thin tube, tied the tube with a grass cord, and tucked it at his waist. He said: ”Teacher, will these drawings be of use today?”

”They will.” Lu Zhu said. ”When the moment comes to use them, I will call on you.”

”Yes.” Kes said.

Lu Zhu came out of the house with the strap of the wicker trunk over his shoulder. The trunk was not heavy — the records were papyrus rolls; what pressed down on the shoulder was the weight of those four months. He walked into the middle of the courtyard, crouched down, set the trunk on the ground, and went over the four corners of its base once more. The four corners sat on the oilcloth Meru had given him, and no damp had come through. Then he lifted the lid a crack and looked inside: the records in four categories, packed level and neat, and on top of them the little packet of incense ash the chief officiant had given him.

”Chief Builder,” Mery came hurrying after him with his three ledgers in his arms, ”I carry the ledgers, and you carry the trunk. Today, for these four laws, the ledgers and the slips — neither one can be spared.”

”Neither can be spared.” Lu Zhu said. ”Let us go.”

By the time they came out of the alley, the rim of the sky had just begun to pale into blue. The main street of the new capital already had people on it. The breakfast sellers had set up their stalls, and the flatbread pots were steaming white; a few women who had risen early carried baskets of freshly pulled onions. When the vendors saw this line of people go past, they stopped what they were doing and stared after them, their eyes following the line. One old flatbread seller ran a few steps after them and called out: ”Chief Builder! Today — is it that day?”

”It is.” Lu Zhu said.

The old man wiped his hands on his apron, over and over, and said: ”Then — then you, all of you, shout those four words loud for us!”

”Which four words?”

”No levies in the busy season!” the old man said. ”Our whole street is waiting on them!”

”We will shout.” Lu Zhu said. ”Today we will shout.”

Along the road, one person after another asked after them. The water-carriers, the flour-grinders, the men who hauled mortar to the worksite — all of them knew this line of people. Some of them pushed flatbreads into the craftsmen’s arms, and some of them chased after, calling, ”Win this one for us!” By the time they reached the open ground in front of the palace gate, the craftsmen were holding seven or eight barley flatbreads, still warm from the pot.

On the open ground before the palace gate, carriages and horses already stood in a wide press.

The royal guard of honor stood by the gate, and the banners hung limp, for there was no wind. The nobles’ carriages stood in rows, each one newer than the last, and the drivers hunched their necks and breathed on their hands. The old priests had come early. A few of the white-robed ones gathered at the side of the gate, talking in low voices. At the sight of Lu Zhu’s line, some of them raised an eye, and some of them simply turned their backs. One young white-robed priest was chanting a scripture; in the middle of the chant he glanced this way, and the old priest beside him caught him by the sleeve and tugged.

”Look.” Asaf said in a low voice. ”Everyone who should be here, is here.”

”More eager than us.” Lu Zhu said.

”How could they not be eager?” Meru knocked his pipe. ”The thing that has stood in their way for a thousand years is to be laid on the table today. If I were in their place, I would not have slept last night either.”

”Did you sleep last night?” Kamon asked.

”Half a sleep.” Meru said. ”The second half of the night, I spent on accounts.”

”What accounts?”

”Reckoning,” Meru narrowed his eyes, ”whose voice in that hall today is worth how many dan of grain.”

As they were speaking, the crowd opened a lane. A few junior clerks from the Civil Affairs Bureau came trotting up the road, and at their head was the old scribe who always watched which way the wind blew. He leaned close to Asaf’s ear and said in a low voice: ”Asaf, it is all over the palace. The nobles’ faction gathered last night at a mansion west of the city, and sat until the third watch. The ones entering the hall today are not only the ones in plain sight — there are a few who have already paved their way in.”

”What way paved?” Asaf asked.

”The seating for the debate.” the old scribe said. ”The places near the front of the hall are filled with their people. Your people have been set at the tail of the hall.”

”Tail of the hall, then.” Asaf said. ”The word lives not in the seat, but in the throat.”

”More than that,” the old scribe lowered his voice, ”the old priests have come to an understanding with the nobles. The two sides have divided the work between them: one of them will bite at the corvée, and the other at the medical houses. One of them will speak of the ancient way, and the other of the temple incense.”

”Understood.” Asaf clapped him on the shoulder. ”My thanks. After the court rises, I will treat you to flatbread.”

”What flatbread,” the old scribe laughed. ”When the laws stand, I will treat you.”

The words had not died away when several noble carriages came rolling over the morning light. When the carriages drew near, they did not slow. The drivers snapped their whips, and the loose dust of the road rose up from the ground. From the foremost carriage the curtain opened a crack, and a hand wearing a ring slowly let the curtain fall again. As the carriages went past, the craftsmen all stepped back half a pace.

”Did you see?” Kamon said in a low voice. ”Not even into the hall yet, and already shaking out his majesty.”

”Let him shake it.” Lu Zhu said. ”Majesty shaken out at the door — the reasoning behind it comes in three parts thinner.”

The palace gate opened.

With a long creak, the two great doors swung slowly apart. Inside, a long flight of stone steps, and at the end of the steps, the hall. Everyone straightened their clothes and entered in order. Lu Zhu walked at the very front, the strap of the wicker trunk cutting into his shoulder. He looked up at the steps — the palace of the new capital, he had built it. Every step of this stairway had been cut by him leading the craftsmen, blow by blow with hammer and chisel. When he cut them, he had never once thought that one day he would carry four laws up these steps, one step at a time.

Halfway up, he reached out and felt the edge of a step. The corner was as straight as it had been the day it was cut, four years ago. The surface of the stone had been worn by these years of shoe soles to a warm, smooth shine.

”Once we built houses,” he said in a low voice, ”now we are to build a country.”

The people behind him kept close order. Asaf walked at his back; Tia followed with the scrolls in her arms; behind them came Kamon and the craftsmen. More than thirty pairs of shoes fell on the same flight of steps, the sound of them scattered and yet unbroken — like a column of men carrying four months of strength up toward the hall, step by step.

The hall was already seven-tenths full.

The pharaoh sat at the head of the hall. The hall itself was divided into two sides: the civil officials sat on the east, the military men on the west. The nobles had taken the good places at the front of the civil side, one pressed against the next, robe over robe. The old priests shrank into the corners of the hall, like a few old bricks that would not be shifted from their nesting. The newly set rows of tables belonged to ”the representatives of every side” — the officials of the counties and the prefectures, the men of the masons’ guild, the men of the merchant house, and the men of the medical houses. The county officials had come in a motley: some of them lean and dark from the south, some of them wrapped in thick robes from the north. They sat together, and no one spoke to anyone, and every eye kept stealing toward the empty long table at the center of the hall. The craftsmen were led to the rows near the back. They sat down, and every back went ramrod straight.

”This hall is bigger than our worksite.” a young craftsman whispered.

”However big,” the old master beside him said, ”it was built with our handiwork. Look at those pillars — the corners of their bases. Were they not cut by our batch?”

The young craftsman craned his neck to look. After a while he said: ”They were. Those corners are your chisel-work.”

The old master said nothing. He straightened his back a little more.

The center of the hall stood empty. In the empty space a long table had been set. The table was bare and still, waiting only for the records to land upon it.

”All are present.” The Royal Steward stepped out from the ranks and looked around the hall. ”The pharaoh decrees: from this day forward, the court sits in Grand Assembly of the whole realm. Four matters are to be debated: construction, granaries, medicine, and the corvée.” He paused. ”For each of the four matters there is a draft. Where the drafts come from, who drew them up, and on what grounds — let everyone here hear the two who came from Thebes tell it from the beginning.”

He withdrew to one side. The hall went so quiet that a man could hear the wind outside.

On the pharaoh’s table lay a roll of something. It was the transcribed table of contents of the four great statutes. These days he had turned its pages so often that the edges had gone to fuzz. Now he pushed it toward the edge of the table, and raised his hand.

”Speak.”

His voice was not loud, but every person in the hall heard it clearly. The rows of the conservatives sat up straighter, all at once, of one accord; at the tail of the hall the craftsmen lightened their breathing.

Asaf was the first to take the floor.

He walked to the center of the hall, bowed to the pharaoh, and then bowed once to each of the two sides. Then he straightened his back and said: ”Pharaoh. Honored assembly. I, Asaf, have served out half my life in the Civil Affairs Bureau. The registers of the corvée — I have copied them for half my life. I stand here today for no other purpose than to lay these four things out in the open.”

He took the first scroll from Tia’s hands, unrolled it, and held it up.

”The Regulation for the Building of Ever-Normal Granaries Throughout the Land.” he read.

”Thebes was under siege for four months. Why did the grain in the city keep circling the edge of ’running out’? It was not that there was no grain. It was that the granaries were wrong.” He paused. ”The five official granaries all sat inside the city walls. Outside the walls, several dozen villages had not one official granary among them. Before the siege, the country folk carried their grain dozens of li into the city to sell it; after the siege began, even the road to sell was gone. The granary follows the official, not the people — that is the first thing to be changed.”

”So the first article of the new law: the granary follows the people, not the official. Where the city has granaries, the countryside must have granaries too. One every fifty li, granary to granary a day’s journey apart. Which village’s grain goes to which granary — the road is marked on the map.”

He looked toward Mery. Mery rose to his feet and held the three ledgers up before his chest. They were the ledgers of the war, and their corners were worn to fuzz.

”The evidence,” Asaf said, ”is these three ledgers. Four months, where every grain came from, where it went, how many dan went damp, how many dou went moldy — it is all written down clearly. And there is a second article — the granary keeper bears responsibility. The old granary keeper of Thebes, Woser, once said: ’The granary belongs to the state. When it rots, it is not his own pot that rots.’ So the law is written: while the granary stands, the man stands; when the granary rots, the man answers.”

In the hall, a man who had the look of a local official nodded lightly.

”Sir,” Asaf looked his way, ”do you have a question?”

The man was a county magistrate from the south, lean and dark-skinned. He rose to his feet and first cupped his hands in salute: ”I — your humble servant will ask one thing. If the granaries are built out in the countryside, where will the granary keepers come from? In your humble servant’s county, the men who can keep a granary, counted on the fingers, come to one old office runner at the bureau. If the law stands and the granaries are built, and no one keeps them — is it not all for nothing?”

”A good question.” Asaf said. ”This question was asked in Thebes too. That is why the law is written — before the granary is built, the school is opened first. One granary, one keeper, trained by the old men of the official granaries. One year of training, and he graduates.” He looked at Mery. ”Mery, tell them that in your own words.”

Mery rose, holding the ledgers, and said: ”No granary keeper is born. The first lesson my teacher taught me was this: ’A granary keeper who does not know the granary is an accountant who does not know the account.’ Uncle Woser of Thebes kept a granary for half his life; now he trains three apprentices, and every day they practice the counting-rods. This article of the law comes straight from him — first the man, and then the granary. On the day the granary is raised, the man who will keep it is already standing at its gate.”

The magistrate heard him out, nodded once, hard, and sat back down.

”The third article,” Asaf said, ”is how the granary is built. The foundation raised, the walls thickened, the air crossed through. For the damp grain, the bottom of the granary is bedded with crushed stone, a foot thick; the wind moves through the narrow windows at the two ends, set slantwise across from one another. None of this is newly thought up. It is the working sample, built granary by granary in Thebes over this past month. Whoever does not believe it — once the law stands, go and look. The granary is right there. Whether the grain goes damp or not, the grain itself will tell.”

”Also,” Asaf lowered his voice, ”where an official granary is sited: if it takes farmland, the land is compensated; if it takes people’s homes, the people are resettled.” He drew an old page from inside his robe. ”This is a land deed from thirty years ago, from east Thebes. The temple, in the name of ’land needed for a canal’, sealed off the people’s fields with one document. The canal was dug halfway, and the land lay waste for ten years. The granary is raised for the people. It cannot be turned around, to push the people out.”

The old priests in the corner of the hall stirred.

”The Safety Standard for the Building of Dwellings.” Tia took the floor next and unrolled the second scroll.

”The basis is the Haven.” Her voice was not loud, but in the hall every word came clear. ”In four months of war, how many villages did one fire burn to nothing? Why? Because the houses had no shape. The tall were tall, and the low were low, mud walls and grass roofs that shook when the wind blew. Why is every house in the Haven the same as every other? So that the people who fled the war would know — a house ought to have a shape. And when a house has a shape, then when disaster comes, there is a bottom to build on, to raise the house again by the same pattern.”

”The law is written in four articles: the foundation tamped firm, the walls thickened, beams added on top, a flue opening left.” She read them one by one. ”The wall: one foot six inches thick, mud bricks laid in staggered joints, bound through with straw. The foundation: raised three inches, and tamped three passes. The roof: a main beam set in, the flat roof pressed down, and an edge left along the eaves. The flue: opened in the back wall, and slanted out through the roof. Every one of these four has a source.”

”And one article more, adjusted lightly to the ways of life of each region. In the south, the eaves may sit lower; in the north, the walls may be thicker. But even the adjustment has a bottom — the wall must not fall, the roof must not leak, the fire must not rise. These three bottom lines, no one may adjust away.”

She drew a page of papyrus from her sleeve and held it up: ”On this is written an old man’s words. His house was built in his father’s time, and two generations had lived in it. On the day the rebels searched the village, one fire burned it in less than a quarter of an hour. The old man said: ’A house of one lifetime — a quarter of an hour.’ Honored assembly — a quarter of an hour. How many lifetimes of days does that come to? Let everyone here think on it.”

The hall went still for a moment. Somewhere, a brush paused, lightly, on a table.

”To this article, I will bear witness.” From the ranks of the military on the west side, a man rose to his feet. He was a dark-faced centurion, and the dust of the north was still on his armor. ”Your humble officer has just come back from the northern border. In the villages of the north, half the houses have fallen in, and the fields have lain waste for two years. But the worst of it is not the falling — it is that after the fall, no one knows how to build again. The border folk circle their broken walls, pick up a few beams left from the fires, stack a few mud bricks — and the next wind knocks it down again.” He paused. ”If there had been a shape to follow, how could the border folk have frozen through three winters in the wind? This law — your humble officer accepts it.”

There were low murmurings in the hall. When the centurion finished speaking, he saluted the pharaoh, sat back down, and his armor scales rang with a crash.

”The soldier speaks the truth.” Tia said. ”What the law wants to raise is exactly this ’shape’. And the shape is not something the officials slapped out of their heads. It is the working sample put together in the Haven over four months — how thick the wall, how high the foundation, how the roof is pressed, where the flue is left. From now on the whole country builds by it. The border folk can build by it, the villagers can build by it, everyone can build by it.”

”The Ordinance for the Building of Medical Houses for All.” The third scroll.

”In four months in Thebes, the whole city had one and a half medical houses.” Tia said. ”How many people let a small sickness drag into a great one, and a great one drag into death? How many people the field hospital saved — there is an account. But outside the walls, in the places with no field hospital, how many died — there is no account.” She turned up a page. ”This is what the stonemason Aka of the city said: ’Seeing a doctor — that is the hardest hard thing in this city.’ And another, from a wounded soldier withdrawn from the northern border: ’In our company of a hundred-odd men, there was just one who could bind a wound. And what he bound with was strips torn from his own clothes.’”

”The law is written: the villages and the towns set up medical points, and the county seats set up medical houses. A medical point is founded on three things — one room that keeps out the wind, one person who can see what ails a man, and one cabinet of medicines that stays dry. A medical house has five: the consultation room, the medicine store, the ward, the stove, and the account room.” She paused. ”The storing of medicines follows the standard in Shafi’s book — raised half a foot, the dry and the damp kept apart, narrow windows slantwise across from each other. Spoiled medicines cut by half — that is the figure the Thebes field hospital worked out by trial.”

She looked at Shafi. Shafi rose to her feet, held up her thin book a moment, and sat down again, sitting very straight.

”One article more,” Tia said, ”the account of the medical house, like the account of the official granary, is posted monthly for all to see. Only when it is posted will no one dare lock medicines away in his own cabinet. And one sentence more — physicians are examined, and the power of examination belongs to the medical guild, not to the officials. The officials manage the door; the physicians manage the pulse.”

Imset sat among the craftsmen, with both hands resting on his knees and his eyes on the center of the hall. He made no sound. But the way he sat was like a stone statue in an old temple.

The faces of the old priests in the corner had turned ugly. The young one in the white robe made to rise several times, and each time the old priest beside him pressed him back down. The old priest squinted, like a man waiting for the right moment.

”Where will the physicians come from?” From the front rows a noble tossed out the question, neither hot nor cold. ”In all Egypt, how many people are there who can see illness? If the medical houses are raised and no one comes to sit in them, are the sick to stand in the rooms and weep at the walls?”

”A good question.” Imset spoke. He stayed in his seat, and his voice was even. ”The physicians come from the field hospital. Shafi’s book is the physician’s textbook — the rules of practicing medicine, the prescriptions for using medicines, the ways of sorting the sick — each and every one is in it. Study it, be examined, pass — only then may a man sit in a medical point.” He paused. ”Nekhet, the old pharmacist of Thebes, kept the apothecary for thirty years. He dictated half a lifetime of skill into the book. He once said: ’Fear stillness, not blood.’ From now on, when the physicians of all Egypt are examined, that is what will be examined. The medical points may be raised slowly. But every one that rises must be a place that can truly see sickness.”

”The Decree Abolishing the Forced Conscription of Craftsmen in the Busy Season.” The fourth scroll.

When Tia unrolled it, the air in the hall tightened, and a man could see it tighten with his own eyes. Several of the old nobles leaned forward, all at the same moment, all of one accord, as if something had caught them by the throat. Among the white robes in the corner, someone let out a soft hiss.

”The basis for this one is the ledgers we walked for years.” she said. ”To press men in the busy season is to press the men who farm the land. When the men are taken away, the land goes to waste; when the land goes to waste, the grain grows short; when the grain grows short, the war is all the harder to win. This is taking tomorrow’s lives, to fill today’s pit.”

”Twenty years ago, Thebes levied four thousand men in a single season.” She turned out the ledgers. ”In these forty years, how many people were pressed away just like this? On these pages are written the figures of several dozen villages: in which year how many men were pressed, how much land went to waste, how many people went hungry. Every line of it was walked out on foot.”

”Among these,” she drew out two pages, ”there are two voices I want to read to the assembly. One is from Montu, an old stonemason of Thebes: ’The corvée — the worst thing about it is the busy-season pressing. My father was taken away in the spring plowing, and in the autumn he died on the official road. That year, half our family’s land went to waste.’ The other is from a man who called the work-chants on the city wall: ’We do not fear putting out strength. We fear strength put out without a count. Today you pull us to build the wall, tomorrow you pull us to haul grain, and the day after you say — hold the city.’”

She closed the two pages and said: ”Behind these two voices stand two households. And behind the two households stand hundreds of thousands of households. This law is meant to set one ’count’ for those hundreds of thousands of households.”

”The law holds only twelve words: no levies in the busy season, paid labor in the idle season, every requisition kept on the books.” She paused. ”The wages of the hired hands follow the rates set by the guild. Whoever breaks this count — that man is taking other people’s lives, to fill his own pit.”

”And there is one more reckoning.” She drew out a last page. ”Abolish the busy-season corvée, and in the first year the officials will have to pay out more in wages. But with no men pressed from the spring fields, the land will have people to farm it, and the grain harvest will come in larger. The part gained will be three times greater than the money spent. This reckoning — I have run it three times. It cannot be wrong.”

She set the scroll down. The four scrolls lay in a row on the table, like four beams that had just been raised.

The hall went silent, and the silence held for a full ten breaths.

In those ten breaths, everything was there at once. The county magistrate from the south leaned his body forward; the one from the north tightened his thick robe, then loosened it, then tightened it again; on the military side, a man pressed his hand lightly down on his sword, and then let it go; the old priests in the corner of the hall did not move beneath their white robes, but the hems of the robes were trembling. And in the row of the craftsmen, every man was holding his breath, and the palms of every hand were running with sweat.

Then it blew apart.

”Outrageous!” The first to rise was an old noble, and his beard was shaking. ”The corvée is the ancient way! It is the root on which this land stands! The former kings built the canals with it and raised the temples with it, and that is how Egypt became Egypt! And you would abolish it with a word? With no levies in the busy season, who will work the officials’ projects? Who will build for the royal house? Would you have the pharaoh haul stones with his own hands?”

”The ancient way?” From the other side, a voice took it up — it was Kamon. He pressed his hands on his knees and rose to his feet, and his voice was not loud. ”My father was pressed away in the spring plowing. In the autumn, he died on the official road. I was fourteen that year, and half our family’s land went to waste. Sir — you say the corvée is the ancient way. Then tell me: the men who died of it — is that the ancient way too?”

”You—!” The old noble’s face flushed red. ”A craftsman, and he dares, in this court—”

”In this court,” Kamon said, ”only when the words of working hands can be heard is it a court.”

”Insolence!”

”Enough.” Another noble rose, a tall thin man with a sharp voice. ”Why waste temper on mud-legs? I will speak. These four laws — the first of them cannot stand from the start. Ever-Normal Granaries, one every fifty li — how many would the whole country have to build? And for each one, how much material? How much labor? How much grain? You throw the words ’waste of the people’s strength and wealth’ at others — but I say this granary scheme of yours is the first waste of the people’s strength and wealth! Can what little is left in the treasury bear up under your squandering?”

”The gentleman asks about material and labor.” Mery rose, holding his ledgers. ”Then let me reckon it for the gentleman. To build one granary in Thebes: thirteen thousand mud bricks, two hundred and twenty timbers, nine hundred and forty man-days of labor. These are true figures, worked out day by day on the ground. Where the material comes from — the merchant house supplies it at the official price. Where the labor comes from — hired in the idle season, at the guild’s rate. Would the gentleman care to look? Every entry in these ledgers carries its signed mark.”

The tall thin man choked, and turned his head to look at Meru. Meru was knocking his pipe, unhurried.

”Do not look at me.” Meru said. ”The merchant house’s prices are written on the board. Open prices — whoever comes gets the same figures. If the gentleman’s household should ever build a granary of its own, I will even save him one tenth on the freight.”

Someone in the hall laughed, low.

”What is there to laugh at!” The tall thin man was angered now. ”And the price of grain? Once the Ever-Normal Granaries stand, who will set the price of grain? It is plain enough—”

”Plain enough what?” Asaf took the words up. ”Plain enough that from now on, no one can hoard grain and force the price up? Sir — in four months of siege, the price of grain doubled and doubled again, and the people who starved to death outnumbered those who died in battle. Shall I reckon that account for the whole court to hear, too?”

The tall thin man said nothing more. He dropped back into his seat with a thud, and his robe swept over and knocked down the water bowl on his table.

”Harassing the people!” Another noble took up the attack, a square-faced man of middle years. ”This dwelling law of yours — that is harassing the people too! The people’s houses are built as their forefathers built them, and lived in as their forefathers lived in them. And you — you send craftsmen down into the villages, knocking door to door, hammering at every household. This is officials forcing the people to change! How many villages have you thrown into chaos, with the hens flying and the dogs jumping!”

”Sir,” Hapy rose to his feet, ”you say harassment. Let me tell the gentleman what no-harassment looks like. In east Thebes, eight houses, their walls sound and worth mending, were made good in three days. When the work was done, the first old man to move back stood in his doorway and said: ’Grandfather Liu is home!’” He paused. ”If the gentleman had seen those eight houses before the work and after it, the word ’harassment’ would not come out of his mouth.”

”And what are you,” the square-faced noble said with a cold laugh, ”some snot-nosed boy . . .”

”He is an officer of craftsmen under the Chief Construction Bureau.” Lu Zhu spoke. He stayed in his seat and did not rise, and his voice was not loud. ”On the Bureau’s rolls. Through all four months, he stayed with the repairing of the city to the end. The gentleman asks what he is — then I am the same thing too.”

The square-faced noble’s lips moved, and he said no more.

”Let me say something practical.” Another official rose, a man whose robe showed him to be of the royal works. ”Quarrel as you will, gentlemen, the projects still stand out there. The royal canals, the granaries of the prefectures — they all wait for hands. No levies in the busy season, hired labor in the idle season — but where will the money for the hired labor come from? Where will the regulations come from? As long as the regulations are not set, the projects cannot open, and if the work falls behind — whose fault is it?”

”Mine.” Kamon said.

He rose to his feet, and laid the roll of the guild’s charter that he carried with him down on the table: ”The guild’s wage rates, its charter, and its method of accounts — all here. If the gentleman wants regulations, the regulations exist. If he wants hands, the guild has more than three hundred craftsmen, and the moment the busy season is over, they come when they are called.” He paused. ”In the old days, the pressed men came on empty stomachs, and worked one day while dragging it out to two. Now, with hired labor, the men who come eat their fill and get their pay, and one day yields one day’s work. Let the gentleman reckon: which is faster?”

The official of the royal works opened his mouth, but in the end no words came to him, and he sat back down in a sulk.

In the corner of the hall, the old priests found their voice at last.

The one old priest left at the new capital rose tottering to his feet and bowed to the pharaoh: ”Pharaoh, this old servant will say nothing else. Only one thing — the medical houses belong to the guild, and the incense belongs to the temple. For a thousand years, when the people fell sick, they prayed to the god first and asked the physician after. And now the law is written: ’the account of the medical house is posted monthly for all to see,’ and ’the examination of physicians rests not with the officials.’ This wipes away, at one stroke, the thousand-year work of the temple. The god — do you still want the god?”

”The god.” Imset rose to his feet.

His voice was even, like the water at the bottom of a river: ”If the god is here, the god will not blame us. In these four months, I saw it with my own eyes — the most powerful medicine is not charmed water. It is clean water, real grain, and a wall that keeps out the wind.” He looked at the old priest. ”The gentleman speaks of the god. Then let me ask the gentleman — the incense of the god: is it fed with the money of the sick, or with the lives of the living?”

”You—” The old priest pointed at him, and the finger was shaking. ”Imset, you came from the priesthood yourself! You—you have forgotten your own root!”

”I have not forgotten.” Imset said. ”That is exactly why I know — the root is not in the incense burner.”

”Well said!” From the military side, someone shouted approval.

”Well, is it!” From the nobles’ mass, a voice fired back at once. ”A man who has had dealings with the rebels — he is fit to speak of roots in this hall?”

”Rebels?” Asaf’s voice went cold. ”Who does the gentleman mean?”

”Who I mean, you all know in your hearts.” The man jutted his neck out. ”Four months in Thebes — who negotiated terms with Nekhem? Who opened the field hospital’s door to the rebels?”

”I did.” Imset said. ”I kept the field hospital’s door open to the wounded of the city. In four months, how many people the hospital saved — the account has the number. Would the gentleman care to look at the names in that account? There are men who defended the walls, and there are common people caught up in it.” He paused. ”Before a physician, there are only the sick. There are no rebels.”

The hall stirred again. Some nodded, some laughed coldly, some put their heads together and whispered.

The hall blew open in another round. Civil officials and military men, nobles and priests — one voice after another, until the beams of the hall hummed. Some slapped their tables, some stamped their feet, some held up the old books and quoted Chapter and verse. The conservatives turned over and over the same two words — ”the ancient way”, ”the proper order.” The reformers never left off two others — ”true accounts”, ”the people’s hearts.”

”And what of that threefold!” The tall thin man suddenly rose again, his voice sharp. ”Abolish the corvée and harvest three times the grain? The ghosts may believe it! Do you have no idea how wasted the fields of all Egypt have gone? That figure — it was blown up with the mouth, was it not!”

The hall went quiet for a beat.

Tia held up the last page.

”If the gentleman does not believe it,” she said, ”then let me reckon it for him. Let everyone in the hall hear.” She paused. ”One county on the West Bank, two thousand men levied in the busy season. Those two thousand men — they belonged in the fields. Pressed away for one month, the wheat goes into the ground half a month late, and how much less each mu yields — the account has the number. One mu left to weeds, how much less — the account has that number too. Two thousand men, one month, the grain the whole county loses — it comes to this.” Her fingertip moved down the page, line by line. ”The wages of hired hands, at the guild’s rate, two thousand men for one month — it comes to this. Set the two figures side by side: is the grain gained not three times the wages paid?”

She turned the page to the hall, and swept it around in a full circle.

”This reckoning of mine,” she said, ”has the source of every entry written at the bottom. Which county’s acreage, which year’s harvest, which wage table of the guild. Honored gentlemen, go and check any of it. If you find one false entry, I, Tia, will swallow these four laws back down, right here and now.”

In the hall, no one spoke.

”Hold your tongues, all of you.”

The pharaoh spoke.

The hall went still at once — so still that outside, a banner could be heard snapping once in the wind.

The pharaoh’s finger tapped, once and again, on the wood-grain of his armrest. He looked around the hall at the men in it, and said: ”Today was for the laying before the court. The laying is done; now comes the deliberating. And deliberation is not quarreling. Can quarreling call up grain? Can it call up houses? Can it call up medicine?” He paused. ”Go back, all of you. Tomorrow, the deliberation continues.”

”Pharaoh!” The old noble rose again. ”This old servant has a memorial—”

”Tomorrow.” the pharaoh said.

He rose and left. The hem of the yellow silk robe swept over the jade steps, one step at a time, slowly. At the mouth of the hall he suddenly stopped, and turned to look back at the center of the hall once — what he looked at was the long table, and on it, the four scrolls laid in a row.

Then he left.

The court rose.

The hall stayed quiet for a long while before anyone moved. The old priests moved first, one after another, edging out along the foot of the wall, their white robes brushing the bricks without a sound. Then the nobles, in twos and threes, deliberately making their way around past the table, and one of them even cut his eyes at the four scrolls. The county officials left slowest of all. A few of them gathered in a knot at the door of the hall, murmuring: ”These four laws — every one of them pokes at something real . . .” The words were not finished before a man from his own county tugged at his sleeve, and he shut his mouth.

The reformers were the last to leave the hall. Outside, the sun had already climbed halfway up the sky, but the light stood pale and flat, and it made a man’s heart feel empty. The craftsmen filed down the stone steps one by one. Halfway down, a young craftsman suddenly said: ”Master Kamon, that line of yours today — ’only when the words of working hands can be heard is it a court’ — that was well said.”

”Well said, nothing.” Kamon said. ”Did you not see the old noble’s beard? The anger had tied it into knots.”

”Knots or no knots.” the young craftsman said. ”The right of it is ours.”

”Right,” Lu Zhu said, walking beside them, ”is only half a mouth in the court. The other half is the numbers, the accounts, and the ten thousand mouths outside the palace.” He paused. ”Today we laid the four laws on the table. Laying them down — that is only the beginning.”

”And tomorrow?” Mery asked.

”Tomorrow,” Lu Zhu said, ”we listen to where they bite.”

Outside the palace gate, the waiting crowd stood black as a tide.

They were all common people of the new capital. There were craftsmen from the worksites, peddlers from the market, women with children in their arms. The old flatbread seller of the morning was there too, his pot left behind unguarded, flour still on his hands. When the people came out, the crowd closed in with a rush, asking from every side at once: ”How was it? Are the laws standing?” ”That no-levies-in-the-busy-season — can it truly come to pass?” ”The Ever-Normal Granaries — will they really be built out in the countryside?”

The old flatbread seller squeezed to the very front and caught Lu Zhu by the sleeve: ”Chief Builder, in the court — did anyone quarrel with you?”

”There were those who did.” Lu Zhu said. ”It got fierce.”

”Fierce is right.” the old man said. ”The people of our street have talked it over. Tomorrow, when you go up to the court again, we will stand out here before the palace gate. Let them quarrel their quarrel, and we will stand our stand. Let the people inside know — outside the hall, there are still people.”

”And us!” the crowd shouted.

”And me.” a woman with a child in her arms said. ”My man was pressed away in the busy season. He was gone three years, and when he came back he was thin beyond recognizing. I cannot read, but those twelve words — I had my man teach them to me all one night: no levies in the busy season, paid labor in the idle season, every requisition kept on the books. I will stand right here, and read them aloud to the people inside.”

”Read them!” the crowd answered.

Asaf climbed onto the stone steps and pressed his hands down toward the crowd. The crowd fell quiet.

”The laws were laid before the court today.” Asaf said. ”And the quarreling in there was fierce. Some are for them, and some are against them.” He paused, and his voice rose. ”But I tell you — the records of the four laws are already on the table of the court. From this day on, this case lies before the eyes of all Egypt. No one can hide it away, and no one can press it back down!”

”Good!” someone in the crowd led the shout.

”Good!” the whole square took it up.

The shout went up and shook the banners over the palace gate until they trembled.

Behind the crowd, several noble carriages were slowly pulling away. Behind a carriage curtain, a pair of eyes watched this mountain of people and sea of faces, cold. When the carriage had gone some distance, the man behind the curtain let it fall, and said one sentence to the man outside the carriage. The driver raised his whip, and the carriage turned toward the deep mansions.

On the road back to the Bureau, the eyes along the street never stopped.

The men on the worksites stopped their tamping; the men on the docks stopped their oars; even the old woman selling vegetables propped herself on her stall and looked this way. No one asked aloud, but that quiet weighed heavier than the shouting before the palace gate. In the middle of the main street, a craftsman grey with dust stopped them and asked in a hollow, muffled voice: ”Is it true, what they say — that in the court, someone called us mud-legs?”

”There was a word to that effect.” Kamon said.

The craftsman brushed the dust from his shoulders and said: ”And what of it, mud-legs? Every wall in this new capital was raised by mud-legs.” He paused. ”Chief Builder, the three thousand men on our worksite are waiting on one word. If the laws can stand, we three thousand will be the first to work by the new charter.”

”First, do the work in your hands well.” Lu Zhu said. ”When the work is done straight, the law will stand straight.”

”Yes!” The craftsman answered, turned, and ran back to the worksite, and the work-chants rose again at once, louder with every round.

At the mouth of the alley, Kes suddenly said: ”Teacher, there is something I held in all the way from the hall today.”

”Say it.”

”That square-faced noble said ’the people’s houses are built as their forefathers built them, and lived in as their forefathers lived in them.’” Kes said. ”The hall he sits in is built higher than any man’s. But does he know that in the tribes of Nubia, one leaking house is lived in by several generations?” He paused. ”Teacher, when will my drawings get their moment?”

”Soon.” Lu Zhu said. ”Press them down a little longer. Good steel goes on the blade’s edge.”

”I will wait.” Kes said.

Deep in the alley, a household stove was smoking. The smell of the evening meal, mixed with the raw smell of freshly turned earth, drifted over in thin threads. Shafi breathed in through her nose and said: ”This smell — it is the same as the alleys of Thebes.”

”The same.” Meru said. ”The alleys of the world all smell the same at mealtime.” He knocked his pipe. ”For this smell alone, the laws must be made to stand — so that the people of the world can all sit down to this meal with their hearts easy.”

”Stand.” everyone said.

That same night, the lamps in the courtyard of the Bureau burned again until after midnight.

Everyone sat in a circle. No one said ”we won,” and no one said ”we lost.” Lu Zhu went over the day’s business piece by piece: who had struck first, and with what; who had answered steady, and who had answered hot; at what moment the pharaoh had raised his hand, and at what moment he had left.

”The pharaoh did not say one word more than he needed today.” Asaf said. ”Only ’tomorrow, the deliberation continues.’ That is not a bad thing. A man who truly did not want to deliberate would have struck the whole thing down today. Keeping it for tomorrow — that means he still wants to hear.”

”Hear whom?” Kamon asked.

”Both sides.” Asaf said. ”And the people outside the hall too.”

”Outside the hall was loud today.” Meru knocked his pipe. ”That old flatbread seller said he would stand outside the palace gate. Believe me, tomorrow he will be there.” He paused. ”This new capital — a hundred thousand mouths on the worksites alone. The laws are deliberated in the court, and they travel through the worksites. If they travel, they are living law; if they cannot travel, they are dead words on paper.”

”They will travel.” Shafi said. She had been mending the corners of her book under the lamp all the while. ”After the court rose today, I made a round of the medical house. Among the sick, someone was already asking: ’Will the account of the medical house really be posted?’ The ones who asked — their eyes were bright.”

”Bright is good.” Lu Zhu said. ”When their eyes are bright, the law is bright.”

”Tomorrow,” Tia spread out her papyrus rolls, ”they will certainly bite at the threefold. I have copied out the acreage of the West Bank, the guild’s wage tables, and three years of harvest accounts, a full set of each. If they want to reckon tomorrow, I will sit before the whole court and reckon it with them, entry by entry.”

”Reckon it to the bottom.” Lu Zhu said.

”And,” Kes said, ”Teacher, my drawings, tomorrow—”

”Keep them pressed tomorrow.” Lu Zhu said. ”Those drawings of yours are for the pharaoh’s eyes, not for that crowd to quarrel over. When the day comes that they can no longer bite into the numbers — your drawings will be the last stroke of the hammer.”

”Yes.” Kes tucked the drawings away, but his eyes were still bright.

”One more thing.” Lu Zhu said. ”That centurion from the northern border spoke for us today. When the court rose, he nodded to me. The men of the war ministry are not all spectators. Tomorrow there may be more of them. We do not build factions, but the people who stand for us must be known to us.” He paused. ”Go and sleep, all of you. Tomorrow will be longer than today.”

”The four laws — they bite at each of them.” Asaf said. ”The corvée one, they bite at the ancient way. The Ever-Normal Granary one, they bite at the waste of strength and wealth. The dwelling one, they bite at ’harassment.’ The medical house one, they bite at ’cutting off the incense.’ Today, all four sets of teeth showed.”

”Good that they showed.” Lu Zhu said. ”Only when the teeth show do we know where they will bite.”

”There is one more set that has not shown.” Tia said.

”What?”

”The threefold.” Tia said. ”When I read the threefold, that tall thin noble was passing looks to the man beside him. They did not bite at it on the spot because they mean to go home and reckon first. Once they have it reckoned, tomorrow they will come straight at that figure.”

”If they come at that figure,” Lu Zhu said, ”we will use that figure to beat them back. Your accounts can stand up to checking.”

”They can stand.” Tia said. ”Every entry has its source.”

”Tomorrow,” Asaf said, ”they will change their tricks again. Today they bit at the open face of things; tomorrow they will bite at the hidden side — at our people, at where we come from, at the words ’the people’s will’, saying we are stirring up the hearts of the crowd.”

”Then let them bite.” Lu Zhu rose and walked into the courtyard. The moonlight lay over the ground, pale and blank. He looked up toward the palace — the lamps on the palace wall, now bright, now dim, like an eye half open, half shut.

”Tomorrow,” he said in a low voice, ”is the true first battle.”

And at that hour, in the deep mansions of the new capital, the lamps were burning too.

The old noble had called his trusted men to his side. Four things lay spread on the table: a transcribed copy of the four great statutes, a roster of the officials of the counties and prefectures, the guild’s wage tables, and one sheet of scrap paper covered in a reckoning that had run itself into ruin.

”Has everyone run the numbers?” he asked.

”We have.” the tall thin man said. ”This threefold figure . . . the cursed thing about it is that it holds up under the reckoning.” He drummed the table, irritable. ”Hire men at the guild’s rates, and the extra money the officials lay out in the first year is truly . . . less than the grain gained. Three times less.”

”It holds up under the reckoning,” the old noble laughed coldly, ”but someone still has to believe it.” He rose and walked to the window. ”In that court, the contest was never one of numbers. It is of voices, of heads, of whose words reach the pharaoh’s ear first.” He turned back. ”From tomorrow, we proceed as we agreed. They have four laws; we have four words—”

”The ancient way.” the whole room said, in one voice.

”Tomorrow, two more things.” The old noble counted on his fingers. ”First — the officials of the counties and prefectures, pull over everyone who can be pulled. Do they not have a few who nodded? Investigate them — in which office each one serves, how many mouths in his household, whom he keeps close to. Persuade the ones who can be persuaded; and for the ones who cannot, let them learn what it means to refuse.”

”Second,” he looked at the tall thin man, ”that woman scribe — when she bit into the threefold, did you mark the hall? The centurion of the war ministry, the one back from the northern border — he nodded at them. The men of the war ministry must not be allowed to stand over on their side. Tomorrow, find a pretext and toss out the words ’the hearts of the soldiers.’ Say it plain: if the corvée is abolished, who will build the walls for the border army from now on?”

”A good move.” the tall thin man said. ”Once the soldiers’ hearts stir, the pharaoh himself will have to weigh it.”

”And one more thing.” On the old priest’s side, the young man in the white robe pressed forward. ”What Imset said today is spreading among the priests. A few of them even say he has the right of it. It must be sat on. Otherwise our own ranks will be the first to fall into disorder.”

”Sit on it.” the old noble said. ”Say that he has turned his back on the god. A man who has turned his back on the god speaks the words of ghosts.”

”Also,” the old noble lowered his voice, ”put the words ’harassment’ and ’cutting off the incense’ out into the markets and the lanes. Say it once in the court, and say it ten times in the streets. When the common people begin to doubt in their own hearts, then that trunkful of accounts of theirs will all be paper glued together.”

In the lamp-shadows, several shapes moved back and forth across the wall, like a pack of rats grinding their teeth.

The Grand Assembly had opened, and the four great statutes had been laid before the court. The old guard bit at them in one mass, with the two words ”the ancient way”; the pharaoh left only one sentence behind him — ”tomorrow, the deliberation continues.” And in the deep mansions, the plan was already set: to carry the false words down into the markets and the lanes.

The shouting before the palace gate had scattered with the dark, and the night of the new capital settled into stillness. But no one slept. In the courtyard of the Chief Construction Bureau, the lamps burned; behind the windows of the deep mansions, the lamps burned too. The two sets of lamps, half a city apart, faced each other through the dark. And in the palace, the transcribed table of contents on the pharaoh’s table was stirred by the night wind, turning over, and turning back — as if it were weighing the four laws. Tomorrow, the deliberation continues. And the teeth of the old guard have been grinding all night.

(End of Chapter 1)